


and we'll burn down the sky

by lady_peony



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, but I may have a thing for bucky and knives so, the no. 6 crossover I never intended to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/pseuds/lady_peony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s heard the stories about the Facility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we'll burn down the sky

Steve’s heard the stories about the Facility. 

The Facility experiments with creatures who should not, do not exist. The Facility saves a chosen few from death’s hand. The Facility is…

It’s a place where people go. There is no second part to the sentence. 

Steve is sitting in the car between two bodies suited gray, faces mild as milk. Steve's fingers worry at the cuffs on his wrists, his eyes darting out to look through the windows, hoping for a glimpse of a familiar alley a street anywhere _anywhere_ he could run to. The windows remain dark.

It was stupid he knew, to draw (tacitly forbidden, implicitly understood) when he was at work, but he couldn’t have waited until he went home, couldn’t ignore the itching in his hands and the raspy scratch of the pencil against paper.

So here he is. Here he goes. Going, going, gone.

Mother. His mother will cry he knows. Cry and wipe her face and straighten her dress. She will walk down every street, knock on every door asking for him. 

She won’t find him. 

(sorry mother. sorry for worrying you. sorry for leaving. I didn’t want to, I didn't-)

The humming of the engine stops.

"Checkpoint," the driver at the front yawns.

The next moment, the windshield has parted like mist, shards coating the floor with a deadly rain. The driver is choking on his blood. 

Steve stares at the scarlet sheen of the knife sticking out of the driver’s throat. 

Two thumps. A fist swings through the side windows, shining and impossibly fast and the guards next to Steve slump down, face-first.

Steve jerks back from the person who yanks out the car door on his right and tosses over his shoulder as easily as throwing a crumpled ball of paper.

A hand pulls off a mask, the goggles, and a face slides into Steve’s line of sight.

The slope of the jaw is harder, the hair longer, the mouth caught in flux between a snarl or a smirk. But the eyes are the same as those of the boy who had tumbled through his window all those years ago, burning like shadows in firelight.

There is the scent of lightning and bandages, Steve’s hands clumsily wrapping up the left stump of a shoulder. _Why are you helping me? Because you need me._ Hot cider and warm palms, fingers tangled like kite strings.

"Bucky?"

A smooth grin then. “At your service, Rogers.”

The hand that pulls Steve out of the car is metal, not flesh, but Steve holds on because he is alive. He is alive.

They will live.

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because of a loose tag I left on a CATWS post and [sulfatetocopper](http://sulfatetocopper.tumblr.com/) went BUT STEVE/BUCKY NO. 6 AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!!!!!!!!!!! and then I typed this in the frenzy of a 2 am inspiration and tidied it up to put here, whoops.


End file.
